


a wedding night

by WhiteJackal



Series: rule!63 asoiaf [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: ASoIaF, F/M, Gen, Rule 63, blended show and book canon, genderbent asoiaf, genderswapped asoiaf, just a tiny blurb, just a tiny piece of my rule 63 sansa/tyrion heart, rule 63 asoiaf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-30 16:15:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10166888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteJackal/pseuds/WhiteJackal
Summary: and so the wolf lay down with the lion.OR, sanders stark and tyria lannister's wedding night.





	

**Author's Note:**

> set during chapter 28 of "a storm of swords" and ep. 3.08 of "game of thrones" tv show.

Lord Sanders towered over her. She’d known he was tall—taller than most men at court, even while he was still yet a boy—but she had never realized just how tall until he stood before her in her chambers. Those blue eyes were clear and dry in the firelight, and his auburn curls seemed to gleam forth a light of their own. He really was beautiful. He was the type of boy she would have adored as a girl, the type the girls twittered and giggled about when he smiled, each swearing he had meant the expression for them. But still…

“How old are you, anyway?” Her voice was a slur of drink and rage and exhaustion.

“Fourteen, my lady,” he answered quietly.

He shrunk before her eyes. Those dry eyes were young and broken, and he seemed to take on the air of a much smaller creature. Still taller than _her_ , who felt worse and uglier than ever, wedded to such an innocent, wounded child, but nowhere near the man he sometimes appeared to be strolling about the Red Keep with grace and dignity beyond his years.

But his years… _Gods_ , he was so young. Younger than she’d been when she was first married.

“Well… talking won’t make you older, will it?”

Her voice was not unkind. In fact, it was softer and gentler than she’d meant to make her speeches that night. She’d not meant to be unkind to him, of course, but she’d meant to be bitter and sour about the whole affair. But now, looking into the brave eyes of her child-husband—gods, had it only been yesterday he’d been betrothed to Joffreya, crying and bleeding and beaten on the throne room floor—she realized how selfish her own discontent with the match had been. What a little monster she’d been about the whole thing considering Sanders’s lot.

He said nothing. He gulped down the rest of his goblet of wine, seeming to steel himself for the task ahead. Tyria tried not to let the action offend her, but her cheeks flushed redder still than they’d flushed with drink. She fussed a little with the cuffs of her sleeves.

_Red and gold._ What a humiliating mockery for the boy, not even to see his own colors, his own House, represented at his own wedding.  _And what a humiliating mockery for such a lordling, who’d come to the Capitol with intent to be king-consort to the future queen, to be wed to me._

Sanders Stark turned from Tyria. He perched stiffly upon the edge of a lounge and removed his boots, followed by his stockings. Then he stood and unbuttoned his cloth-of-gold jerkin, setting it and the other removed articles of clothing aside atop the trunk at the bed’s foot. His back alone still faced Tyria, but she saw him take a deep breath, finding the necessary and shuddering courage, before removing his undershirt. Lines of puckered and smoothed discoloration crossed and dotted his pale skin: scars from blunt blades and fists and straps and gods knew what else, and all for the fun of Tyria’s sadistic little niece. She remembered the twelve-year-old child from the throne room. She remembered admonishing Joffreya, and she remembered her guards and ladies helping the boy stagger, bleeding and bruised, back to his chambers.

“Stop,” she ordered with a choked and thick tone, just as Sanders reached for his trousers. He glanced at her over his shoulder, and she saw the flash of fear in his captive’s eyes. She shook her head, and the mistiness of her own mismatched eyes blurred the figure of her half-dressed husband. “I can’t do it. Well, I _could_ do it.” He was handsome, and she’d bedded far worse—in fact, she was not sure she had ever bedded _better_ besides Shae. “But… won’t.”

“Do I displease you, my lady?”

They had broken him. No husband, no Stark of Winterfell, should ever feel the responsibility of such a question towards his lady wife. And the question posed to Tyria Lannister, the Imp, was comical. She even laughed a little, shaking her head.

“No… No, Sanders, no. But I won’t share your bed.” She saw the flash of fear turn to confusion in his child-eyes. “Not until you want me to,” she clarified.

He was quiet for only a small moment. He crossed his arms over his bare chest, hugging himself in an anxious manner. But his eyes, so frightened and cautious and _smart_ , never left Tyria’s face. He was unflinchingly serious in his regard of her.

“And what if I never want you to?”

That question hurt her more than she would have expected. She blinked, and a couple of tears fell. She wiped them quickly with her hand, lowering her gaze. She tried to remind herself that he would not wish to share the bed of any Lannister. But her own ugliness had to be part of it, too. Only whores had ever wanted into her bed—only men and women she had paid to _pretend_ to love her. Aside from Tysher, of course. But Tysher was not Sanders. Sanders Stark was not a crofter’s son. He was the second son of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, a boy of some of the oldest and most honorable blood in Westeros. He had been raised to know his worth, and he was worth far more than Tyria Lannister, no matter the state or status of his House. And he knew it. She could see the Stark iron in his Tully eyes, and he looked a bit like Lord Eddard just then—certainly like his brother, the Young Wolf.

She forced a laugh and raised her goblet to him. “And so my Watch begins.”

**Author's Note:**

> blended show and book canon in this oneshot, though the show and i have long-since parted ways.


End file.
